Slipping out of my professional armour, I pull on my comfortable yoga pants, loosely layered, soft tops and a puffy black coat that some poor duck gave it’s feathers for. Slipping my feet into the neon running shoes, I head out into the blackness to wash my soul of the mind numbing busyness that I so easily slip into. There is just something about frigid temperatures; clear black nights; and crunchy ground that clears my soul.